Friday, September 28, 2007

Once in a while, there’s a day that kicks your ass. Your boss does something stupid, or you do something stupid, or IT does something stupid – no, wait, that last one is every day.

Anyway, you know what I mean. The days that leave you a mushy pile of yuck.

Lately, I’ve been having these days with increased frequency. Days that leave me staring at my cube walls, counting down the minutes until it’s acceptable for me to leave the office. Days when I wake up filled with dread. Days when I can’t even fathom what it is that I’d rather be doing.

Welcome to today.

The good news: it’s Friday. I haven’t yet completely biffed any work that would, oh, get me fired. So far, I’ve resisted the temptation to start carrying a flask. And I have a job where it’s perfectly acceptable to be lost in ipod land and therefore ignore the world around you.

So, I’m listening to Bon Jovi. But even they aren’t helping my outlook.

I’m frustrated because I hate feeling like this. I know that the real truth of the matter is that I like my job. I like where I work. I like the people I work with. I enjoy the work. So why do I feel like the sky is falling? And what can I do to get over this slump?

The idea of cleaning out my garage this weekend is actually sounding really appealing. Do you see why I’m worried about my current mental state?

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Yesterday was the last hot day of the year. Mr. Wonderful and I went for a walk. It was still 85 degrees at 10 p.m.

I got a little hot. And sweaty.

He told me I smelled like a trucker.

Ha ha, that's funny.

And then? And then he asked, "Will you humor me and take a shower?"

And he didn't mean it in a pervy, hey-babee-yur-hot sort of way, either.

Are you fucking serious? Seriously? Seriously.

If I smell that bad, dontcha think that just maybe I will take a shower of my own volition? Have you noticed at any time during the last four months that I occasionally practice sound personal hygiene?

I called him on it. I repeated to him, verbatim, exactly what he said to me. And then? And then, he fell down laughing. He couldn't believe he'd actually said that.

I took that as a good sign. And then?

And then, I informed him that I would exact my revenge by blogging about his mad boyfriending skillz.

Hi, honey. You suck. But what sort of crack whore am I to be head over heels for you - not in spite of your suckage, but because of it?

Sunday, September 23, 2007

1. Mr. Wonderful and I sat on the beach and did absolutely nothing for two glorious days. Well, ok, that's sort of a lie. We also walked up and down the beach, smuggled wine onto the beach, and walked to a beachside bar.

Favorite moment? Drinking wine out of a water bottle in the dark, and then attempting to contain Mr. Wonderful as he screamed up to all of the residents of our condo building, "I'm not drunk! And you know it's true, because drunk people don't say that!"

I told him to use his inside voice, which upset him, as we were outside. I guess he did have a point.

2. I returned to The Worst Vacation Hangover Evah. And not because of all the wine we drank. No, I had vacation hangover because I returned to a messed-up workplace, the details of which I won't bore you with. Just feeling overworked. And under appreciated. And if I have to tell my boss what, exactly, it is that I do one more time? Well, it won't be pretty.

3. I received a phone call at 7 a.m. on Wednesday from my lovely parental units. They have been on a cruise of the Rhine. As you do. And they had returned to the states, and wanted to let me know that a) they were back and b) they thought my dad had a heart attack in Budapest but he didn't and it was ok because the hospital discharged him just in time for them to make their plane.

Say what?

I had to call them back later in the morning when I was awake. Yes, he had chest pains. Yes, the EKG was abnormal. But the angiogram - which he had with absolutely no sedation in a hospital that was literally short on light bulbs - showed no arterial blockage. No heart attack. Just some weirdness.

So, that's good. He now said he never wants to see Budapest again. I can't say that I blame him. He also says that he's just going to give his copies of the Hungarian labs (sounds like a dog breed. heh.) to his small-town family practitioner and call it good.

Umm?

I am very, very blessed that my parents are vital, healthy people. I think we all appreciate that even more since my mom's bout with breast cancer almost 10 years ago. And my parents are smart, educated people. But I can't help think that someone is sticking their head in the sand on this one.

At what point do you (for lack of a better word) bully your elders?

Dear Dad,

You had chest pains severe enough that your surgeon brother-in-law took you to a hospital with no light bulbs. Thank god it wasn't a heart attack, but it was still something wrong. You owe it to the people who love you and want you to be around for another 40 years to figure out what it was so that it doesn't happen again.

Leaving it up to your small-town doc, whenever you get around to dropping the labs at his office, may not be the best way to move forward. Please, please, please reconsider this plan of action.

If you don't, I'll conspire with Mom. And that's the worse threat I can imagine.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Foxie Doxie makes me crazy. He barks at everyone and everything. Walking him is a nightmare, as no amount of leash training can contain his urge to run like a maniac. He eats bunny droppings and sheds like it’s an Olympic sport.

You want one, don’t you?

But here’s the thing. He has the silkiest ears in the whole world. And he perches on his hind legs like a freakin’ meerkat when he wants your attention – sometimes with his tongue barely sticking out. The cuteness is almost unbearable.

This morning, I walked into the bedroom to see a little round lump in the middle of the bed. Because he’s like his mama, Foxie Doxie is not a morning person. He had gone back to bed – under the covers, natch.

When he heard me walk in the room, I heard the “thump, thump, thump” of his tail. He crawled out just so his head was exposed and he collapsed from the stress of it all. He did, however, summon the strength to kiss me.

Saturday, September 8, 2007

So, Mr. eHarmony has pretty much rocked my world. Not only did he take me to a KICK-ASS REO Speedwagon show last night, but over the last four months, he's pretty much turned my brain and my heart to mush.

Yes, I have become that girl. I am embarrassed for myself. And yet? And yet, I can't stop mooning over him. I will spare you the gooey details, but let's just say he's wonderful and I'm over the moon.

It's been a huge adjustment. He's normal. And he's around a lot. This significantly cuts down on the time that I am free to mope around my house and ponder how I could have possibly seen every episode of Dog the Bounty Hunter that's on my DVR. It also cuts down on my free time.

So, right now, Mr. eHarmony is chillin' with his daughter. I was invited along, but originally had other plans, which fell through. So, it's Saturday. And I can do anything I want. And I am fucking clueless as to what that would be.

I do need a little time to zone out and digest a few important developments. Like, the realization that Mr. eHarmony likes me. All the time. Not just "Acceptable and Perhaps Even Entertaining in Social Situations Cha Cha." He also appears to like "Tired and Totally Crabby Cha Cha - Now With JBF Hair!" and "Ask Me That Question One More Time and I Will Kill You Cha Cha."

With the exception of my sainted parents, who are required by law to love me unconditionally at all times whether they like it or not, I've never experienced this. Like, he likes me for my true self, even when it's not pretty. Even when I don't believe him. Even when I try to push him away because obviously he's lying, right?

People, I have won the fucking lottery.

I'm in shock - which, I think, is a fair reaction when riches beyond your wildest dreams fall from the sky and land on your front porch. He seems rather bemused by my reaction. I'm obviously a little slow on the uptake, but I'm starting to get it.

Oh my god.

So, this is obviously more than the "I just want someone to take to the movies" aiming-low-so-I'm-not-disappointed goal that I had when I started online dating. This is obviously turning into more of a long-term relationship.

So, let's call a spade a spade. Mr. eHarmony has outgrown his moniker. Let's call him Mr. Wonderful and just be done with it. I'm head over heels in love with him.

Or, how I realized the Amish probably don't have access to and/or believe in the use of depilatory cream.

Today at the farmer's market, I saw an Amish woman with a full-on, black mustache.

I understand that in the grand scheme of things, sporting a 'stache for your religious beliefs is pretty minor. It's not like being burned at the stake. However ... I have a hard time believing that God a) cares about your personal hygiene habits; and b) wouldn't just pull you aside and be all, "Girl, let's take care of that."

Tuesday, September 4, 2007

eHarmony: I hope you don’t mind that I’m around all the time and you don’t have time to do all the stuff you like to do – you know, like working and watching Dog the Bounty Hunter.Cha Cha: Uh? Ohmygod, you’re right. Those are my two hobbies. Workin’ for da man and watching a mulleted superhero pick up iceheads.eHarmony: I’ve never actually watched Dog.Cha Cha: Oh, promise me you’ll watch just one episode with me! It’s so fulfilling!eHarmony: Of course! I want us to share the important things in life.